


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by nugicorn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nugicorn/pseuds/nugicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ending. After pulling Kate Shepard from the rubble of the Citadel, Garrus is insistent on forcing her to rest and celebrating the holidays with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st

 

December First

 

"Come on, Shep, let me help you." Garrus huffed in exasperation. Nearly dead, but still she insisted on doing anything she could.

 _And a few things she really can't … or at least definitely shouldn't,_ he thought, watching her pull the IV out of her arm. "The nurses would have gotten that for you, you know."

"For the millionth time, I'm _fine,"_ Shepard insisted. She nudged him to make some space by the bed, groaning as she slid her legs over the edge. Once on her feet, she shuffled across the room to the bag her civvies were in.

"Ah, yes, I forgot; humans are often hospitalized for being 'fine.'" He did the air-quotes, expecting them to get a laugh, as usual; she didn't see them, digging through her bag. Sighing, Garrus leaned against her empty hospital bed.

 _You really should be in this bed for another week._ "At least let me carry you to the skycar. We don't have any shoes for you, and I don't want you to catch a chill."

"Any excuse to get your talons back on me, huh?" Shep asked, flashing her crooked grin.

"Sure, Shep. Not like I actually want to avoid watching you die for the _third_ time." He would never forget uncovering her body in the rubble. Skin pale, even for her; so alabaster and translucent she looked entirely bloodless. He'd been certain he'd lost her for good that time. And now she'd come back twice; there was no way she would come back a third time. "Eventually, you run out of chances, you know." His mandibles swept out and around, a gesture of resignation. On that day, most of him would die, too.

"I know." Shep rubbed the back of her neck, fighting the tension. "I just wish the others—" Her voice cracked, and she turned away from him.

"Hey, no," Garrus soothed. He dropped to his knees next to her, an arm around her shoulders.

Shepard crouched by the bag, a clean tank top pressed against her eyes and covering her face.

"You did the very best you could," he told her. "The very best _anyone_ could do. They had no right to expect you to even pull it off, let alone with so many surviving. It's okay, Shep. Please." He knew humans saw it differently than turians did; if the turians had one man standing at the end, it was worth it. Humans tended to count every loss, second-guess every decision. It would be a long time before she could accept everything that had happened.

Yet a moment later, her face was dry, the pain hidden from everyone, even him. "So, where you taking me, anyway?" She stood up, yanking clean clothes on and taking her hospital gown off after, pulling it through her arm-holes.

 _She especially hides from me. I'm lucky I saw even a glimpse of it._ "I found a place," he said. "Wait til you see it, you'll love it." He tried to keep the sadness out of his tone; if she wanted to pretend she hadn't just broken down, he would let her. For now.

Someday, she was going to share her feelings with him.

"Well, big guy, can we go, then?"

Garrus looked up at her, looking just as much the commander in civilian clothes and barefoot as she ever did in full armor.

"Right behind you, Shepard." He climbed to his feet, ready as always to move on her command.


	2. December 2nd

 

December Second

"Good morning, Shep," Garrus trilled.

Kate Shepard stretched in the massive king-sized bed, opening one eye. Seeing him in the doorway, she snorted laughter into one curled hand, then quickly hid her amusement with a yawn when he looked at her sharply. Somewhere, somehow, the big turian had found an apron. It came to about mid-thigh, it was pink with ruffles, and he didn't appear to be wearing anything under it.

"That's quite an apron, big guy. Did you lose your all your other clothes?" Shepard asked.

"Turians don't tend to wear much in the home. But I know how you humans sometimes feel about cooking naked, for some reason." He shrugged, the dishes rattling on the breakfast tray he carried.

Shepard grinned. "Yeah, I think that's more an issue with people who have little hairs right at stove-level."

"You mean the—ewww, Shep, _why?"_ Garrus pulled a face, nearly dropping the tray.

"Well, you seemed to be asking me why!" She buried her face in the pillows, laughing. He just looked so _horrified_ sometimes when she explained human things.

"I wasn't. Now are you going to be nice, or shall I go toss your breakfast out?" He turned, making as if to leave again.

"No, come back. I'll be nice." Shepard sat up in bed, tucking the blanket down around her waist. "What'd you bring me?" she asked, making grabby hands.

"French toast, bacon, waffles, orange juice, pancakes, cocoa—"

"Oh, my god, you found cocoa? With marshmallows, too?" Shepard grabbed the mug, greedily downing the chocolate-and-marshmallow soup. It was the little luxuries you missed most in wartime, she had found. Hot chocolate. Dry socks. Comfortable underwear.

"Not to mention, the French toast, waffles, pancakes, cereal …." Garrus's mandibles flailed slowly in apparent disappointment.

Shepard reached out to squeeze his hand. "Garrus, it looks perfect. Just, you know. Maybe next time, don't make _all_ the carb options for one meal."

"Well, I followed this food pyramid thing… it said you need eleven of these a day. I don't know what you _omnivores_ eat," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Tell you what, big guy …. I'll clear my plate, if you promise to help me work off all these calories …." Her hand crept up his thigh, edging towards the apron strings at his waist.

"No, you don't." Garrus scrambled to his feet, backing away until she couldn't reach him. "You're on bed rest. Absolutely no hanky-panky."

 _Hanky-panky?_ Shepard's eyes went wide, but she fought against the rising giggles, trying on bedroom eyes instead. "Are you really telling me 'no?'" She tilted her chin down, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Garrus squirmed in the doorway, keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling. "Until you are one hundred percent better, I am telling you 'no.'"

 _Damn, he's on to me._ Shepard sighed, then patted the bed. "Come on, sit with me. I'll behave," she promised.

Garrus approached warily, as if not trusting her at her word, and perched on the edge of the bed.

Kate Shepard had no intention of scaring him off, though. The war was finally over, she had her bondmate here with her, making breakfast in bed …. They could wait for all the other stuff.

 _Hanky-panky,_ she thought again, giggling into her waffles.


	3. December 3rd

December Third

"What the hell are _you_ doing out of bed?" Garrus demanded. He turned from the stove to fix her with a glare. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed yet. She was supposed to be resting. _I think it's time I gave serious thought to tying her down._

Shep stood in the doorway and shrugged. "Can't stay in bed forever. Are you really cooking everything from scratch like this, two meals at a time? You know you can't eat human food, right?"

Garrus opened his mouth, giving her the most fake-astonished look he could muster. "Oh, gee, Shep, can't I? I had no idea. Thank the spirits you're here to tell me these things."

"What is that?" Shep asked, not responding to the sarcasm. She padded closer to the stove.

"Don't look!" Garrus raised the pot high above her head, so she couldn't see. "Close your eyes, I want you to guess. Hold still. Can you smell it?"

Shep closed her eyes, and he brought the pot closer, wafting the steam toward her face.

Her brow furrowed. "Not quite, but maybe …."

"Hang on." He reached for the spoon, and started stirring. These things had a very distinctive sound, surely she would ….

Shepard gasped, and her eyes flew open. "Macaroni and cheese, are you kidding me?"

Grinning, Garrus set the pot back down on the stove. "I knew you'd love it. You love the worst foods, you know. I could take you to the fanciest restaurant left standing, but why would I, when you're just as pleased by food that came dry in a box?" He still thought the food looked vaguely radioactive. _Thank the spirits I'm dextro and don't have to try this stuff._

Shep leaned up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.

Garrus's mandibles fluttered. Another point for the _knowing-Shep's-favorites_ file. Just find the crappiest, most processed kid-food, and she was swooning. Or … as close to swooning as Shep got, anyway. "Now, are you really feeling up for being out of bed? This is a first for us, you know. A real milestone."

"Which milestone is that?" Shep asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's our first Christmas," Garrus whined, pouting. _Play it up. Gotta sell the varren-pup face, or she'll never let you get away with it._

Looking flummoxed, Shep crossed her arms. "How am I supposed to guess that? You're turian, you don't even celebrate Christmas."

"Well, the next big turian holiday isn't for months." Garrus stared at his feet, nudging the floor with his toes, pouring sadness and despair into his harmonics. "I thought, maybe, we could build snowmen, and bake gingerbread houses, and trim trees ….

Shep snorted. "Oh, top-notch acting, big guy. Do I get a choice in this?" She boosted herself onto the counter, stealing the serving spoon to start eating the horrifying "macaroni" dish straight out of the pot.

He dropped the sad act, knowing he'd already got her. "Not even slightly," he said, leaning forward to rub his nose against hers. Eskimo kisses, she'd explained once. "We're going to do every silly little ritual there is. I'm going to shower my bondmate with presents, too. And you're just going to have to deal with it."

"Goofy bastard," Shep managed, around a mouthful of orange, processed fake-food.

"I love you too, Shep."


	4. December 4th

December Fourth

"Well, why won't you?" Garrus asked. He sat at the little wooden coffee table, while Shepard sprawled on the old, ratty couch.

_Petulant,_ Shepard thought. _You sound petulant, Garrus._ She didn't say it, though. That was kind of a compromise, right? She tried to think of a logical reason she was resisting, something more logical than _it's silly and I don't wanna._

"Because it's a tradition for children," she said. "Not for adults. Adults who fight wars. Come on, Garrus—"

Garrus's mandibles flicked. "So, you're so terrified of acting a little childlike—"

"Hey! I am on to you, big guy." She shook her head, determined. "You can't try to make everything you want into a dare so I have to do it. Nuh-uh, not falling for it."

Garrus stuck his tongue out at her briefly, his talons drumming on the sheets of old-fashioned looking parchment he'd gathered.

Shepard didn't laugh. She knew he was just going to find a different angle of attack. She needed to stay on her guard.

He dropped his head, then looked up at her sadly. "It's just that … it's my first Christmas, and all."

_Shit._ "Don't do that. That's not fair." It really wasn't; how was she supposed to fight against unrelenting puppy-dog eyes?

"I mean … I've never gotten to do the tree, and the presents, and all that. I just want to have a traditional Christmas with you." Finally he lifted his head a little, and Shepard saw his jaw was trembling slightly.

"You cheating bastard. Fine, I'll do it." She slid off the couch, kneeling at the coffee table.

Mandibles spread wide in a grin, he shoved some crayons and paper at her.

Shepard sighed; she _knew_ he'd been faking. "Can't I at least use a grown-up implement?" she asked.

"No." Garrus shoved a Christmas-green crayon into her hand. "Now, remember to tell Santa _everything_ you want, okay?"

_Oh, I have a list. I want to get out of here and back to the war clean-up, I want my armor, I want my gun back._ She tried to think of smaller stuff, that he might actually be able to get. _This is stupid,_ she thought, but she bit her lip to keep quiet. He wanted her to write a Christmas list, she'd write a damn Christmas list. She watched him under her eyelashes, intent on his own list-making, mandibles chattering quietly the way they did when he was concentrating.

It was kind of cute, she supposed.

_Yeah, I guess I can write a Christmas list. Just as long as it makes you happy, big guy._


	5. December 5th

December Fifth

"What the hell, Garrus? What is this?" Shep smelled the glass, a look of distrust on her face at the frothy yellow mixture within. She looked like a _kaja_ that had accidentally tasted a vegetable.

"It's eggnog. It's traditional." Garrus nudged the glass toward her mouth. He knew it was traditional for some humans at Christmas; he'd looked it up. He had no idea why they would choose to mix these things and deliberately ingest them, but she was human. She might like it.

Shep shook her head, handing the glass back. "I can't drink it, then. Traditional turian drinks will kill me."

Garrus rolled his eyes as best he could. "It's traditional for _your_ people, Shepard. I made my own a little differently, with dextro stuff. Just try it." He held the glass out to her again.

"I will not," Shepard grumbled, arms crossed over her chest.

"Are you afraid of a little drink?" Garrus's chin lifted, challenging her.

"You know, eventually that will stop working," Shep muttered. She grabbed the glass, downing the contents in one go. Her head whipped forward as she coughed. "What's in that stuff?"

"Well … yours is mostly rum," Garrus admitted. "I had a feeling you wouldn't like the whole egg-and-cream—"

" _What_ now?" Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Nothing. Just a normal drink." Garrus shrugged, sipping carefully at his own own. _Uuuugh._ He shuddered. He'd done the best he could with dextro substitutions …. _I hope the human version tastes better than that._

"You're trying to get me drunk, big guy, aren't you?" Shep asked. She looked up at him, cheeks already flushed a little with the alcohol.

"Just a little tipsy, maybe. It's been a while since you've unwound." That was no lie. She'd been pushing hard for years, now, and she rarely took a break. It would do her some good to let loose a little, get a little drunk, relax some.

"Gimme another," she demanded, pushing the empty glass back to him.

"Shep, are you sure? I thought you didn't like it?" Garrus hesitated. Surely she shouldn't have too much, coming out of the coma and all.

"Acquired taste. I think I quite like it."

_I think your alcohol tolerance has dropped to nothing._ But he gave up, sighing, and mixed her another "egg nog;" in reality just plain rum, now, with a dash of the original concoction thrown in.


	6. December 6th

December Sixth

"What happened?" Shepard asked groggily, crawling out from under the covers she'd apparently burrowed into. She held her head as she sat up; she felt like a krogan parade was pounding through there.

"Let's just say I won't be making you eggnog again anytime soon." Garrus sat on the edge of their bed, playing with his visor.

With a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

_Uh-oh._ "What did I do? You're watching it now, aren't you?" Shepard dove for him, but he scrambled up, out the bedroom door, and downstairs.

Shepard chased after him, still unsteady from the long months in bed at the hospital. "Get your ass back here!" She chased him through the kitchen, stopping only when he put the couch between them.

Still pushing buttons, he kept a close eye on her.

She knew he was just waiting for her to move, so he could counter. They were always so evenly matched in spars. _What is on that visor? What did I do last night?_ "Garrus, when I catch you, I swear to God—" Reaching for him across the couch, she stopped, hearing what sounded like her own caterwauling voice coming out of his visor, small and tinny.

" _IIII'LLLLL be HOOOOME for Chrimmas …."_

Shepard paled. "What is that noise?" She already dreaded the answer.

On the other side of the couch and therefore safe, Garrus grinned at her. "Well, it's either the murdered cats brigade, or that's you singing after half a bottle of rum."

" _YOOOOUUU can COOOOOUNT on MEEEEEEE …."_

"Turn it off!" she shrieked. She flung herself over the couch at him, and he caught her before she could hit the ground. Her legs went around his waist as she tried to yank the visor away from him, to stop it playing.

Garrus held her away easily, and pressed a few more buttons. In a moment, it was playing back from the big speakers on the holoscreen. Shepard's own voice, at top volume and with no concern, apparently, for hitting—or holding—the right notes. Holding her tight, Garrus danced her around the room.

Blushing hard, Shepard swatted at him. "Let me down, I swear to you …." But she was laughing too much to expect him to take her seriously. _Goofy, goofy bastard,_ she thought, wondering when was the last time she'd had this much fun.

Garrus kept dancing, swinging her around the room. "If on-leee in … my dreams …." he sang to her.


	7. December 7th

December Seventh

"Shep, come on, I have a surprise for you," Garrus called up the stairs. His mandibles thrummed. She was going to be so excited.

"I would be done already, if you hadn't told me my hair has to be bone-dry. It takes a while with curls, you know."

Garrus heard a hiss of something burning, then a yelp and something crashing over.

"Shep? Are you okay?" He started up the stairs, but she called back down.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She muttered something after that, but he didn't quite catch it. Some kind of threat to the hair-dryer, it sounded like.

_Killed all the Reapers, can't handle a hair-dryer._ He opened his mouth to tease her, but thought better off it when a string of curses floated down.

When Shep finally trotted down the stairs, she stopped cold on the third-to-last tier.

Garrus grinned, holding up a heavy overcoat, scarf, and boots.

Her eyes went wide. "Does this mean what I think it does? You're finally letting me loose?"

"Don't get too excited, Shep. I'm letting you out of the house, as long as you don't overdo it." He was only letting her into the yard; surely she couldn't hurt herself too badly … right?

She bounded down the last few stairs, yanking the jacket out of his hands and fighting her way into it. "So, what has Officer Vakarian got planned for the seventh day of Christmas?"

Garrus's mandibles twitched in annoyance. "It's not the seventh day of Christmas, it's … oh, never mind. You should know your own people's holidays, though."

"Fine. I'll get right on that. What are we doing?" Sitting on the floor, she shoved first one boot on, then the other.

"Snowmen," Garrus said, grinning again.

With Shepard finally dressed, the pair raced outside. The snow was thick on the ground, nearly to Shepard's knees. Garrus had already gathered huge piles of snow together for them to build their snowman.

"I don't want a traditional snowman, I want a snowkrogan. An anatomically correct snowkrogan."

His mandibles sagged. "Come on, Shep, after all this work, you're taking away the tradition? You know I've—"

Garrus stopped short as a snowball to the face interrupted him. The cold burned, then started dripping into his cowl. "Oh, you're dead now, Shep." He dropped his voice low and fake-dangerous, and Shep squealed and fled before him, ducking as he pelted snowballs at her retreating back.

She waited, ducking behind a huge pile of snow until he was out of ammo, then turned on him, sending snow missiles flying back at him.

Garrus growled, ducking under the barrage, until he caught her, tackling her to the soft blanket of snow and kissing her gently on the lips.

"I love you so much, Shep."

She smiled up at him, looking content; the first time he'd ever seen that particular look on her face. "I love you, too, Garrus. You know that."


	8. December 8th

December Eighth

"Garrus, get your spiky butt down here!" Shepard yelled. She adjusted her borrowed apron and gave a final stir of her project; good. It was done, then. Probably. Not like she cooked that often ….

"Isn't it a little early for racism?" Garrus called from upstairs. His tone buzzed with humor.

Shepard laughed. "Come on, it's the first day I'm up before you, I have a surpri—" She stopped shouting abruptly as Garrus appeared in the doorway. "You need to make noise when you move."

"Pssh. I have to live with a Spectre, I'll take every advantage I can get." He looked entirely too smug, though, for having managed to sneak up on her.

"Close your eyes." Shepard moved to block the stove when he leaned forward. She didn't want him to know what she was working on yet.

"Why?" Garrus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Is this payback for me winning the snowball fight?"

"Close your eyes."

Looking uneasy, Garrus backed away a pace, but closed his eyes. "I just want you to know that I _trust_ you, Shep, so I know you wouldn't betray me."

Rolling her eyes at his melodrama, Shepard placed a small bite of her project in Garrus's mouth.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Caramel popcorn. Very traditional. And safe for turians, I checked."

"It's good." He opened his eyes. " _You_ made this? Are you sure? What is it, again?"

Shepard swatted him with the spatula. "Just eat the damn popcorn," she mock-growled, rising up on her toes so he could take her in his arms and kiss her. His hands slid around to her bare ass, squeezing lightly.

"I thought you humans had rules against naked cooking," Garrus rumbled into her throat.

"I'm wearing the damn apron, aren't I?"


	9. December 9th

_AN: Just to forestall any issues, "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" is, in fact, in the public domain._

* * *

 

December Ninth

Garrus paused, washing dishes in the kitchen. What was that noise? Was she moving furniture? She certainly wasn't supposed to be moving furniture yet. The sounds came again, heavy cardboard boxes scuffing across the floor, Shep grunting.

"Hey, this isn't a sideboard," she muttered.

"What are you doing?" Garrus came to the doorway, still holding a soapy mixing bowl.

Shep had moved several huge boxes away from a piece of furniture in one corner of the room, and was now clearing the junk off it.

"I thought it was just a useless piece of furniture," she murmured. She lifted a piece of it, and underneath, Garrus saw the black-and-white pattern of one of those human instruments.

"What is it?" Garrus asked. _Pino? Plano?_

Shep touched a few keys, coaxing a delicate, airy tune out of it. "It's a piano." Her gaze was far away, brow furrowed. She appeared to be lost in memory.

"You play?" he asked. There was something familiar about the look on her face.

Shepard shrugged. "I used to. On Mindoir, as a child."

_Oh, shit._ Garrus's mandibles went a little slack, and his first impulse was to rush forward and destroy the thing, obliterate whatever it was that brought her back to Mindoir.

Except … she didn't look distressed. More just … wistful? _I think this is the first time Mindoir has come up without it hurting her._ "Play for me," he suggested.

Shep shook her head, but her hand absently picked a few notes out anyway. "It needs to be tuned."

"I'll get someone out here tomorrow," he promised. He didn't know why, but he needed her to sit down and play.

"I don't know if I remember the lyrics," Shep demurred, but her hand was still finding those airy little notes.

Garrus waited, and finally she slid onto the bench, both hands finding their places, and began to play.

"It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old …."

Garrus sat down on the couch to listen to her, completely forgetting about the dishes he was washing. He couldn't help it; he had never expected such a sweet sound could be produced by his Shep, his little carnage in a tiny suit of armor. It was entrancing to see what else she was. And to see her finally remembering home without it killing her ….

"O ye beneath life's crushing load,

Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;

Oh rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing."


	10. December 10th

December Tenth

"Stand up straight," Garrus grumbled.

"Just take the holo faster," Shepard returned, tugging at the short velour skirt part of her costume. Why on Earth had he forced her into this thing? And why did she have to show so much _leg?_

Garrus glared at her over the camera. "Look, you can't be Mrs. Claus and slouching."

Shepard glared right back. "She is thousands of years old. I'm pretty sure I have better posture." _I am so done with this._ The pantyhose itched, the skirt was too short, and the fireplace behind her was baking her ass.

"Be 'sexy' Mrs. Claus," Garrus ordered.

Shuddering, Shepard pulled a face. _Be the sexy two-thousand-year-old lady? Even asari don't hold up that long._ "Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?"

"That's it. I'm just setting it to take as many pictures as it can. Come here." Garrus left the holocamera standing to chase Shepard around the living room.

Shepard dodged, not really trying to get away; he caught her by the wrist and pulled her close.

Pressed up against him, Shepard smiled. _You know if you weren't dressed as Santa, you could so get some today._ She clapped a hand over the escaping giggles, then tried to put her stern commander voice back on. "Mr. and Mrs. Santa is _so_ creepy, Garrus."

"Shut up and kiss me," he growled, leaning in as the camera flashed over and over again.


	11. December 11th

December Eleventh

"Shepard, watch out!" Garrus leapt across the table to prop up the side of her gingerbread house. The weight of the extra frosting, gumdrops, and little chocolate candies had led to cracks across its walls, causing the whole thing to start crumbling.

"Quick, I need another load-bearing candy cane." She snapped her fingers, her eyes not leaving the candy construct.

"Shep, you're not supposed to overload it like that. Look at mine." His subvocals buzzed with mild irritation.

Shep studied her monstrosity, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. "You can make yours however you want. I'm eating mine, and it's going to be full of candy." She squeezed the frosting bag again, adding another layer to the candy construct that could no longer be fairly called a gingerbread house.

Garrus sighed. How did she have any teeth left? She really was just a big five-year-old sometimes. "You're not supposed to eat it right away. We're supposed to display it. Like a decoration."

"Then we'll display yours." She kept squeezing frosting on until the whole thing folded in on itself, a mess of gingerbread, candy, and pure, unadulterated sugar.

Garrus tried to figure out how to get his hands out of it without dragging it all across the table. The moment his attention left her, she darted forward and put a smudge of frosting on his nose.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Well, I've got too much frosting on the house, right? Might as well start frosting some other things I'll be nibbling on today."

Digging his hands out, Garrus dismayed at the sheer amount of levo-food smeared on his hands. "You'd better watch it, Shep. This already isn't bed rest, you know."

"I think I'll be fine," she said.

Garrus had to raise his hands quickly as Shep climbed over the table and slid into his lap. "Shep, I'm covered in frosting!"

"Oh, _are_ you?" she asked, leaning forward to lick the frosting off his nose.

Heart thumping, he tried to remember himself. _She's still supposed to be resting, your hands are covered in frosting, you're turian and she's tiny and squishy and you'll hurt her._

Then she kissed him, and he forgot everything, burying his hands in her hair.

Face and hair streaked with three different colors of frosting, Shep pulled back, smiling. "Now look what you've gone and done."

_I tried._ "Well, there's no medical reason why we can't take a shower …."


	12. December 12th

December Twelfth

Shepard woke to the maddening _jingle-jingle-jingle_ of someone thinking they were entirely too cute. Her eyes flashed open.

_Absolutely not._ She hopped into her pajamas pants on her way out of the room, clomping downstairs and cornering Garrus in the kitchen. Now she stood in front of him, hand held out. "Give me that. Now," she demanded.

"Give you what?" Garrus asked, eyes wide and confused. His eyes flicked to the stove, and Shepard shook her head, red curls flying.

"You are wearing jingle bells. You must stop." Something under her left eye twitched, causing little flickers on her vision as the eyelid tried repeatedly to close.

"But I _like_ them," Garrus protested.

Shepard's free hand crept to her forehead, trying to rub away the headache there. She remembered her least favorite part of Christmas, now. Mindoir had been one of the early human settlements, and they had been _big_ on certain things. Since so many of the settlers were from the western hemisphere, one of those big things had been American-style Christmas, an event which was so much more about the trappings than anything else.

Trappings like jingle bells.

_They did Christmas wrong._ The Shepard children were only allowed to speak to a few other families' children at Christmas, the ones who all went to the same church every Sunday. For some reason she couldn't quite remember, jingle bells were the epitome of this wrongness.

"Garrus. I can only make so merry. If you insist on jingling all day for the next—" Shepard checked her omni-tool— "thirteen days, I will need to shoot someone. And you won't let me outside, and you're the only one here."

" _Fine,"_ he finally grumbled. He removed various jingling accoutrements and handed them to her, including a belled Santa hat, jingling necklace, and clip-on earrings.

Shepard stared at them. "You do know you don't have ears, right? These are _ear_ rings. What'd you even clip them on?"

"I like them. I clipped them on my crest." He turned back to his cooking, still using his sad-bunny-pouting voice.

"You know they're for girls, right?" Shepard asked.

"You keep them."

Shepard shook her head as she left the kitchen, Garrus calling after her.

"Maybe you can wear them when you're out of your foul mood," he yelled.

Shepard dumped all the jingling crap into a box in the living room. She could almost remember why the jingling was wrong. Almost ….


	13. December 13th

December Thirteenth

"Look what I what won," Garrus called, bursting through the door.

Shep rolled off the couch, still half-asleep, brandishing the remote as a weapon.

Garrus paused, noting the hair askew, the look of tight panic on her face before she smoothed it out. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Shepard shrugged, gradually unclenching her fingers to release the remote. "Nothing. Just napping. What is this?"

Chest out, chin raised in pride, Garrus held aloft a turkey that weighed roughly twenty-five pounds. "I won it. In the raffle."

Shep shook her head. "So many questions," she muttered.

"It's—" Garrus started.

"Traditional," she interrupted. "I know. Weird, though." She squinted at him. "They do say your people started out as some kind of avian creature. Wouldn't think you'd want to cook a turkey."

"You are not trying to tell me you think I resemble one of these." He dropped the turkey heavily into her arms, playing at being offended.

She grunted, taking the turkey. "I dunno … maybe not a turkey, specifically. But what about those birds of paradise? With the big crests? And they're always _preening,_ you know."

"I do not preen! And at least I'm not descended from pyjacks." No longer pretending to be offended, Garrus stalked away into the kitchen, leaving Shep to carry the turkey.

"Yeah, but I'm not eating any pyjacks. Jesus, what does this thing weigh?" She dropped it on the counter with a heavy _thunk._

Running water into the sink to defrost it, Garrus muttered under his breath. "I'll cook you a pyjack. You won't even know."

"What's that, big guy?"

Taking a deep breath, Garrus reminded himself they were supposed to be having a nice Christmas. "I said, I won't be eating any turkey, either."

"Then why did you bring home fifty pounds of it?" Shep griped.

_Is she_ trying _to exasperate me?_ Garrus took the turkey from the counter, setting it in the sink. "I told you, it's—"

"Traditional," she finished again. "I'm surprised you haven't gone in for the mistletoe. That one's a big tradition, you know."

"But I can kiss you whenever I like," he reasoned, demonstrating the ability with a chaste peck on the lips.

Shep wrapped his arms around his neck. "That isn't a mistletoe kiss, though."

He pulled her close, the tension in his keel easing now that the bickering back-and-forth seemed to be over. "Don't worry. I'll be putting mistletoe in some, ah, strategic places when you're feeling better."


	14. December 14th

December Fourteenth

Shepard closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent. Pine. Somehow, he'd actually found a pine tree and dragged it back. It sat propped up in one corner of the living room, crooked and leaning against the wall.

Memories of home had been dragged back with it. So now, she couldn't sleep, and she knelt in front of the bare tree, which Garrus had promised they'd trim tomorrow.

_Or, a couple hours from now,_ she amended, checking her omni for the time. The scent of fresh-cut pine pervaded everything, bringing her back to the last tree she had trimmed with her family.

Digging around in the boxes left stacked by the previous owner or tenant, Kate Shepard searched until she'd found what she needed … what she knew would be there. Once she found everything, she set up her craft station on the coffee table; paint, string, shaped bits of wood, and various other supplies.

She worked carefully, cutting and gluing and tying until she had seven ornaments, then carefully painted on the first one.

_Jonah,_ she thought. He had been the oldest, sixteen when the batarians hit, almost a man grown. Next was Isaiah, just starting to take over more adult duties on the farm. She painted his name on the next one. After that came Talitha and Serah, her favorite sisters who she was so close to, they were nearly triplets. Then Malachi, who won awards at their little school for memorizing Bible verses. Then Shiloh, the baby. Shiloh, who had been just four, and all Kate could remember was blue eyes and pink cheeks.

On the last one, she painted _Hannah & Samuel._ The only thing she could remember of her parents was music, and pancakes on Saturday mornings. Once she'd finished, she waited for them to dry, then one by one, she hung them on the tree.

"Shepard?" Garrus stood halfway up the stairs, watching her with a look of concern.

Shepard hung the last ornament as Garrus came over to her.

He touched one lightly with his talon. "I didn't know all their names," he murmured.

"I didn't know them again until this morning. Is the tree trimmed enough?" She swiped at her face with one hand; what the hell was this? Why was she leaking?

Garrus put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. "It's perfect," he told her.


	15. December 15th

December Fifteenth

"Wait here," Garrus said. He placed Shep's hand on the four-foot-tall gate after he scooted through it. "Wait here," he repeated.

"I'll wait. What's going on?" Screwy red curls stuck out from under her hat.

"Just wait here."

Garrus left her by the gate, hurrying into the barn. Once inside, he moved to the stalls, where two reindeer grunted at him in greeting. "Easy, boys, easy," he said, patting them. They seemed anxious to do some work.

"Garrus? What's that noise?"

"Almost there, Shep!" He got his rented reindeer—Dasher and Vixen, according to their owner—into their harnesses, clipping the lines to the also-rented sleigh.

_She's going to love this one._

"Seriously, Garrus, it's cold. I'm going back inside—"

"Yah!" he called, snapping the reins. The deer surged forward, pulling the light sleigh out of the barn.

Shep's mouth had dropped open in shock.

_I knew it, she's speechless._ Garrus directed his reindeer through the paddock, turning to pull up by the gate and Shep. The reindeer's breath puffed heavily into the air.

Shep backed away a few steps, pawing for the gun she no longer carried. "What the hell is this?" Her face was a mask of revulsion.

"Shep, are you okay? It's just a sleigh ride. Very traditional. I checked." Uneasiness crawled through him. He'd clearly done something wrong.

"No, no, no, no, no." Her eyes had fixated on the deer, roving over them as she shook her head.

"Shepard, what's wrong?" He hopped down from the sleigh, putting himself between her and the reindeer.

"You bought these, these, _things,_ and what, I'm supposed to trust them?" She gestured to the reindeer, reacting as if he'd brought some kind of Reaper abomination to her instead of draft animals.

_Are you kidding me?_ Garrus's brow-plates furrowed. "Let me get this straight. You've fought the Reapers. You've fought a Thresher Maw on foot. You're ready to go toe-to-toe with any species in the galaxy, tell the Council off to their faces, you are sleeping with a turian, but you're afraid of reindeer? Children ride these things." It just didn't make any sense; his Shepard wasn't afraid of _anything._

"Look at their _eyes."_ Shep shuddered. "You can't tell what they're thinking."

_They're probably thinking they wanted to get some exercise before getting their oats and barley and maybe half a carrot apiece._

"This is why you kept killing your fish, isn't it? You secretly hate animals." Garrus sighed. "Go back inside, Shep. I'll get these guys set up, and we'll do some Christmas crackers or something."

"Come on, Garrus, don't be mad. I'm allowed a weakness, aren't I?" She looked up at him, grey eyes pleading for understanding.

"I'm not mad. Of course you're allowed a weakness." He hugged her over the fence. "Let me just put them away. I'll have someone pick them up tomorrow. Go inside, love." Garrus patted the reindeer, letting them know it wasn't their fault. Before he could turn to get back in and drive them into the barn, the sleigh shook with a soft thud.

Moving slowly so he didn't spook her, he looked at Shep, curled up in a ball on the floor of the sleigh. "What are you doing, Shep?"

"Sleigh ride. It's traditional."

Garrus didn't say anything, just climbed up beside her and drove the reindeer around in a slow circle.

Shep started by his feet, but eventually was able to sit up and actually look at the harmless animals—which she apparently thought were some kind of monster—pulling them around.

"Not too bad," she decided, trembling lightly.

"Not bad at all," Garrus agreed, unable to do anything but admire her, his bondmate. He had thought her fearless; now he knew she just refused to accept fear. "Ready to go in yet?" he asked.

Shepard shook her head, taking the reins from his hands. "Not yet. I want to drive them a little."


	16. December 16th

December Sixteenth

"Deck! The halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la."

_The hell? S_ hepard wondered, raising her head from the pillow. She pushed the curls out of her eyes. _Is he singing?_

"Tis! The season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la."

Shepard grumbled under her breath, glaring at the clock. _It is three o'clock in the freaking morning!_ She crawled out of bed and lurched into the hallway, where Garrus appeared to be torturing little strings of lights into submission while singing under his breath.

" _Don_ we now our _gay_ apparel—"

"Don our what now?" Shepard asked.

Garrus jumped, then flared his mandibles wide in a grin. "Make fun of me all you want. I wanted lights, and I wanted it to be a surprise. Fa la la, la la la, la la la."

"Troll the ancient yuletide carol," they both sang.

"Fa la la la la, la la la la." Shepard finished alone as Garrus stared at her.

"I keep forgetting you can actually sing."

Shepard shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, when you're not pumping me full of liquor. Where's the ladder? Let me help with the lights."

"You're bonded to a turian; we don't need a ladder. Sit down and sing to me."

Sighing, Shepard settled by his feet, trying to shake the awkward feeling of performing. _What songs do I even remember?_ She closed her eyes, letting herself fall back to Christmases on Mindoir. Papa with his guitar, the whole family eating Christmas cookies and having a singalong before they went to bed. She smiled; the memories didn't hurt as much anymore.

"Oh, holy night … the stars were brightly shining …."


	17. December 17th

December Seventeenth

"Dammit, Shep, would you just open the damn thing?" Garrus held the brightly wrapped package out to her. He loved taking care of her, but did she have to make everything so _hard?_

Shaking her head, Shep crossed her arms, refusing to take it. "It's not Christmas yet. And besides, you're getting cranky. Exactly how long are we supposed to stay here? I'm better. I don't need more bed rest. I need to be out there, doing stuff."

Garrus sighed, imbuing the sound with all the sarcasm and frustration of the last two weeks. _Don't snap at her, she's on edge too._ "If you would just open the damn present, it would help with that."

"Really?" Shepard raised an eyebrow, finally relenting and taking the gift box. "Even though it's not tradition to open presents this early?" She lifted the box to her ear, but Garrus grabbed her wrist, immobilizing it.

"Don't shake it, Shep. Just don't."

Looking perplexed now, Shep sat down and set the package on her lap to unwrap it. She hesitated before reaching into the pile of tissue paper within.

Garrus noticed he was clenching his mandibles, and forcibly relaxed them. "It won't bite, Shep. At least, it won't bite you."

"That's very reassuring, big guy." She plunged her hand through the paper and gasped when her fingertips found cool metal.

"You didn't!" She pulled the brand-new pistol out of the box with her left hand, using her right to shred the tissue that clung to it. This was the first gun she had held in months; most of her weaponry had ended up either destroyed or missing in the final battle.

The look of awe on her face was worth it.

"This is a Copperhead. This isn't even available yet!" She ran her hand along the top, where the black gun was set off with bronze.

Garrus lifted his chin, preening. _I knew she would love it_. "Didn't I tell you it would help? Now we can go shoot stuff."


	18. December 18th

December Eighteenth

Shepard lay curled up against Garrus on the couch, snuggling into his warmth.

_You have to love being able to sleep on a turian when it's cold out._ She snorted a laugh into his chest and he looked at her questioningly.

"Nothing, big guy. Never mind."

"You and your inside jokes. You know a real joke requires at least two people, right?" he asked dryly.

Shepard ignored this, choosing instead to rub her face on his skin, loving the feel and the scent and the … _there-ness_ of him. He was here, with her. The war was over. Outside, the wind may be shrieking, threatening to knock down the farmhouse and eat them with icy teeth, but in here, it was warm. In here, it was just them. No people needing something from them. No duties that kept taking them away from important moments.

No emergencies.

_I could get used to this._ Shepard pulled the huge down-filled blanket over them both as the fire Garrus had built purred in the grate.

"This is nice," she murmured, and Garrus pressed his forehead against hers.

"It is nice," he agreed.

"No holiday tradition today?" she asked, opening one eye to look at him.

"What about the yule log?" he protested.

Shepard snorted. "No one does that anymore."

Garrus fetched a dramatic sigh. "And after all the work I did to get it blazing all nice. Stay here, I'll go get some chestnuts to set on fire." He started to get up, but Shepard clung to him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

"Don't you dare leave. Stay with me."

"Always," Garrus whispered, stroking her hair as she drifted to sleep in his arms.


	19. December 19th

December Nineteenth

Garrus watched his Shep as she dreamed beside him. He almost couldn't believe it. He had gone with her on her first Spectre mission not expecting to make it back home; that was years ago now, and they were both still here. They'd been through the Collectors and the Reapers since then, not to mention the truly uncountable waves of mercenaries, slavers, pirates, and anyone else in the galaxy stupid enough to cross Shepard. Sure, she'd died once or twice, but that couldn't stop her. Nothing could.

Shep shifted in her sleep, looking for warmth, and Garrus settled her against himself. It was amazing that they even worked. Once you got the armor off her, Shepard was all smooth curves and soft skin. Nothing like his unforgiving angles and—what had she called it?

_Sandpaper,_ he remembered. His sandpaper scales in some places, that they had to be careful with. But they were. He hadn't hurt her, and it was his most important calling to make sure he never did. Not in bed, not in anything he said to her.

Garrus placed a hand on her flat belly, suddenly wishing he could be the one to put a child there. He wanted everything. He wanted to get his Shep pregnant, to watch as she grew softer and clumsy, and eventually brought _his_ child into the world. He let the fantasy run for a few minutes before he dashed it. It wasn't even the species issue. Garrus knew all her looks. She had said they might adopt someday, but she hadn't meant it. She'd thought she had, but really she hadn't.

_Even this, I do for you, love._ He growled lightly, letting his harmonics tell the story of his love for her.

Shepard murmured in her sleep, smiling, and Garrus couldn't help smiling in return, mandibles wide. She wasn't supposed to be able to hear his truest words of love, but he'd caught her at it several times already. If it was quiet, and she wasn't distracted, she could just barely catch some of it.

_I love you, Shep. I love you forever,_ he told her, inaudible to almost any human he could have tried.

"Love you too, big guy," she mumbled.

It was enough.


	20. December 20th

December 20th

Shepard looked around to see the familiar dead black trees.

_Oh, not again._

She tried to run, but it felt again like someone had turned the gravity all the way up. Shapes stood in the thick fog, and Shepard moved away from them. She didn't want to do this again. She was done with this shit.

"Not too bad, Skipper," Ash's voice echoed. That was weird.

_It's usually a little more accusatory than that,_ Shepard mused. She kept running—really just lifting her knees in exaggerated motions while her body barely glided forward—and tried to aim for an area thinner in fog, and more sparse in the damn talking shadows.

She saw all of them. Vega, who had called her Lola once until she beat the shit out of him. Wrex, who had just disappeared on the battlefield and never reported back in. Thane, dying to protect her and the salarian councilor. Williams, of course, Shepard's first sacrifice to the Reapers. Zaeed. Jenkins. Joker. Too many others to count.

Mordin Solus solidified out of the fog in front of her.

_He's not all black and inky. He should be black and inky._

Shepard tried to backpedal, but momentum kept her floating forward until she bumped lightly into Mordin, who caught her by the shoulders and stood her up straight. He didn't look like the other shadow-people. He looked … normal.

_What is going on here?_

"Shepard. Did well. Right one to do it, you know. After all …" Mordin smiled, and Shepard knew what he would say.

She finished the sentence with him. "Someone else might have gotten it wrong."

"What's that, Shepard?" Garrus asked.

Shepard lifted her head from the pillow, noting that both it and her face were damp.

"Shep, are you crying? What's wrong?" He dropped the tablet he'd been working with to reach out to her.

For once, she accepted the comfort, sliding into his lap. "Nothing's wrong, Garrus. Nothing at all." She curled up against his chest. Though her eyes were still wet, a small smile curved her lips.


	21. December 21th

December Twenty-first

"What _is_ this holo?" Garrus complained.

"Shut it. First of all, it's a _movie_. Very old. Secondly, you wanted tradition, and this is it. You're not allowed to have Christmas without watching _It's a Wonderful Life."_

"It's _not_ wonderful. It's awful." It was unrelentingly depressing, to be honest.

"Eat your popcorn," Shep said, tossing a handful at his face. Then ensued a brief war, with fluffy popcorn bits flying everywhere, until Garrus managed to get her pinned, wrists in front of her, Shep seated on his lap.

"Feed me," he said, letting one of her hands free. Popcorn had quickly become their favorite food, since Shep had checked and found out it was perfectly safe for turians. It was the first thing they'd found that they could both eat easily. Such a minor thing, that every other couple in the galaxy took for granted. Just being able to eat something together.

"This movie would have been a lot shorter if it was about you," Garrus commented some time later.

"I'm trying to wa—wait, what do you mean?"

"'What would things have been like without the Shepard? Reapers.' The end."

Shep threw an entirely-too-soft elbow back into his chest.

Garrus pretended to "oof" and let her go. He let her believe she was winning for a minute, then pinned her underneath him on the couch, grinding against her.

"I wonder if you can guess where I've hidden that mistletoe?" he asked, nuzzling at her neck.


	22. December 22nd

December Twenty-second

Shepard crouched, scanning the open field and paddock around their cabin. She knew he was here somewhere.

"You'd better not shoot my reindeer," Garrus drawled over the comm.

"Stop trying to draw me out, Vakarian," Shepard hissed back. She knew he was somewhere by the barn, trying to lead her into a trap. She had no interest in the reindeer, she didn't want to go anywhere _near_ the reindeer, and he knew that. So, he was trying to lure her into thinking that because he knew she hated the damn deer, that she'd be safe in the barn. But Shepard knew better. If it was obvious that she'd never go to the barn, then clearly, that's where she would hide; so she knew Garrus knew that, too. Therefore, the barn would _not_ be safe, since that's where Garrus was laying his trap.

Unless, of course, he knew she was thinking all of that, and was trying to lure her away from the barn ….

Glancing again at her weird weapon, she wondered where Garrus had gotten these things. They seemed like normal guns, maybe a little lighter. And a lot smaller than anything she'd feel comfortable carrying. But instead of killing people, they just left a little spot of washable paint on the victim's clothes. He had tried to tell her that tournaments with these things were another holiday tradition for some people, but she wasn't buying that at all. No one wanted to shoot their friends and family at Christmas, after all. Shepard was the odd man out on that, she was sure.

After watching the barn for a while, Shepard finally convinced herself that if he knew that she knew that he would be planning a trap there, then he must not have. She approached silently and opened the door.

To find Garrus standing just inside, the barrel of his gun pointed at her stomach.

Accepting her defeat, Shepard dropped her weapon and put her hands in the air. "Take the shot," she told him.

A stain spread on her coat, the same deep blue as Garrus's colony markings.

"Point Vakarian," he rumbled. "Although, that's not very satisfying, when you just _give_ me the shot and then stare at me."

"Well, I had to give you the shot. I didn't have time to bring my weapon up. But if you didn't find it satisfying …." Shepard clutched her stomach and screamed, staggering around a few steps like they always seemed to do on the old cowboy movies Garrus loved so much. She fell to her knees, scrabbling at Garrus's coat as he stood with an impassive look on his face.

"Tell the boys … I buried the gold in …" Shepard shuddered, made a retching noise, and finally fell "dead," sticking her tongue out. A moment later, she was kicking and screaming again. "Take m'boots off, Garrus. Don't tell my momma I died … with m'boots … on …."

Garrus clapped for her, slowly and sarcastically. "Oh, brava. Brava. Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"Just trying to play along," Shepard said, grinning. She held a hand up so he could haul her to her feet.

He obliged, then bent down and picked her gun up, handing it back. "Come on, first to ten. The barn can be safety, so I can't fake you out again."


	23. December 23rd

December Twenty-third

Garrus was gentle. It had been a long time since they'd been together like this, but nothing could make him forget finding her after the final battle. The bluish cast to her skin, the lifelessness of her body when he had pulled it from the rubble. Blood and an oily something had coated half her face, and his sensitive hearing could pick up the sound of ribs grinding inside her chest, no matter how carefully he had tried to move her. He had thought she was done. The fear that had buried him then remained. He was beginning to think it might always be with him.

Now, even as she moved under him, he worried. He knew her ribs couldn't be quite healed yet. He knew she must be in some pain, but she'd never show it. He tried to be gentle.

But spirits, how he'd wanted her. And hearing her say that she wanted him ….

Well, how could he say no to his Shep?


	24. Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

Cold morning sunlight streamed in through the windows. Shepard stretched languidly, sprawled across Garrus.

"Someone slept well," Garrus commented.

"How could I not?" she asked, snuggling up against him.

"You're not having any more nightmares."

Shepard looked up at him, curious. It was still difficult to read turian expressions, but she could read Garrus. Not like a book; she hated books. She could read him like … like ….

_Never mind. I can read him, that's all._ And what she read now looked like barely-healed grief. She knew he had grieved for her since she'd first told him about Mindoir. What she hadn't known was how deeply it must have hurt him. That, he had hidden from her. He always tried to keep things easy for her. Which was impossible, given what they'd been dealing with over the past years … but Garrus never added to the load. Any time she looked to him, he would shoulder more than his fair portion of the burden, always trying to make it better for her.

"No more reason for nightmares," she told him, kissing him on the scar that rippled through his colony markings.


	25. Christmas Day

Christmas Day

"Shep, it's after midnight," Garrus whispered, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up." He couldn't wait any longer. It was Christmas, and he wanted her to open all her presents.

Shep burrowed further into her pillow, voice muffled. "If you tell me you're waking me up because of tradition …."

"Don't you want to know what your big present is?"

Finally pulling her face out of the pillow, she looked at him blearily. "It wasn't the gun?" she asked suspiciously.

_And sleepily._ He twitched a mandible a little, looking at her sleep-smeared face. How a woman who rarely wore make-up managed to looked smeared in the morning was beyond him.

"Nope. But it's the last present, so you have to open everything else first." He grinned widely.

"You are going to grin your mandibles right _off,_ if you don't watch it. Don't be so smug." She shook her head at him, then leaned in to kiss him briefly. "Did the stuff I ordered for you arrive yet? I can't imagine any stores actually being able to do anything while we're still cleaning up after the—"

"No. No Reaper talk. And yes, presents have arrived. Of course they did. St. Nick is never late."

Shep rolled her eyes. "Don't you think we're a little old for Santa?"

"I don't know what you mean. But check the roof, if you don't believe me."

"If you made those poor reindeer walk around on the roof—"

"I did no such thing," Garrus protested. "Those are hoof prints from _Santa's_ reindeer. Now get up. Get some real pajamas on."

She looked down at what she was wearing. "These are real pajamas."

"That's an old T-shirt with holes in it. Here," Garrus said, thrusting a package wrapped in snowflake-covered paper into her hands.

"What's this?"

"That's your first gift. Hurry up, you need to be wearing proper pajamas to open presents."

Shep shredded through the beautiful paper to find a set of midnight-blue silk pajamas. "Silk? Really?" she asked.

"It's fine. I just won't touch you in them," Garrus said, indicating his talons. He was fairly certain he could touch her without ruining them, but they had been expensive. He'd rather wait for her to get out of them, just to be sure she didn't end up with nothing but silk ribbons.

"That kinda ruins Christmas," she joked, shrugging into the camisole top. "Ooh, comfy."

"See? They're nice. Quit complaining." He watched her backside as she tried to hop into the matching pants.

"Fine. Then you can't complain if I start dancing and you're not allowed to touch me."

Garrus tried to roll his eyes, one of those oh-so-human gestures that he couldn't quite manage. He mostly did it because it made her smile every time. "I have seen you dance, Shep. I think I can resist."

"Really," she said dryly. She got up to leave, then stopped in the doorway, sliding her back down then back up the doorframe, wiggling her backside, and bending over to flip her hair.

Garrus's mouth dropped open. He knew she was watching, waiting for him to answer. He couldn't say anything. Time had frozen. "That," he croaked. He swallowed, tried again to force words out of his suddenly-dry mouth. "That is not how you normally dance," he finally said.

"Well, it's not exactly appropriate at the clubs while I'm the commander, is it?" She looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, pretending she didn't know what she'd done.

"Take those off right now and get your ass back over here."

Shepard grinned, and the moment she was close enough, Garrus pounced.

He knew by now she had a thing for him not asking nicely.

§

Some hours later, they finally made it downstairs. Garrus watched as she looked at the pile of wrapped boxes he'd arranged around the tree, Shep pretending to be adult and military and not caring about the presents. He knew better. She was really just a big kid inside, and if you understood that, you understood Shep.

_I think maybe no one but me understands my Shep._

"Did you wrap your own presents?" she asked.

"I left them all in the shipping boxes, don't worry. I have no idea what's in them."

"When did you even do that?"

Garrus chuffed at her, and moved closer so he could wrap his arms around her. "Do you have any idea how much time you've spent sleeping lately? I could have taken a vacation from the vacation and you wouldn't even have noticed. Open a present."

"You open one," she challenged.

"I believe I already got my main present upstairs," he said, and was rewarded with a tiny elbow to the ribs. He sat, still holding her, and settled her into his lap, reaching around her for presents. He handed one to her and started opening one for himself.

Garrus spent the next hour exclaiming over presents, his heart beating faster with each little squeal of surprise she gave. He had picked well, evidently; she hadn't opened any presents she didn't seem to like. He was pleased with his haul, as well; not so much for the presents, but for all the effort she had obviously put into picking things. A stuffed varren, for example, that hearkened back to a joke between them that predated them being a couple. Shep didn't often do anything romantic or sweet in this way. It was nice seeing she really did feel it, even if she didn't usually demonstrate.

"We're going to do Christmas every year," he whispered to her. The promise was more for himself than for her.

"Not if you're going to lie to me about it. Where's my big present?"

Garrus chuckled at her. "Are you sure? Are you ready for it?"

"Gimme, gimme." She held her hands out, making grabbing gestures.

_Just a big kid,_ he thought again. "Close your eyes."

_"You_ close your eyes," she grumbled, but she obediently covered her face with her hands.

Garrus waved a hand in front of her face, to be sure she couldn't see. "Keep 'em closed," he told her, chanting it like a mantra as he pulled a new set of armor and her favorite assault rifle from the closet, laying them in front of her silently. "Keep 'em closed. Keep 'em closed."

The armor had been the easy part; he was able to get her measurements from the last time she'd ordered a set. The rifle was difficult. She had had it with her when she charged the Crucible, and he had spent days combing through rubble, before and after visiting hours, looking for the damn thing. Going through rubble after a disaster was a shitty job, but it needed to be done. Plus, it was _her_ rifle buried somewhere in there.

"Keep 'em closed," he intoned again, before pressing a few buttons on his omni-tool. Hackett's voice started playing.

" _Dammit, is this Vakarian again? You screwed with her messaging address, didn't you? Well, tell her that Admiral Hackett called, and if she's not too busy, we have something of a pirate problem. Out in the Terminus systems. They seem to think that because we're busy rebuilding, they won't be bothered. She needs to get her ass out there and clean it up. Hackett out."_

Garrus looked to see Shep peeking through her fingers.

"Really?" she asked, trembling lightly.

He pointed to the armor on the floor. "Really. It's time."

Shep barely glanced at the armor before she flew across the room, landing against him and nearly strangling him with her tiny little version of what she called a "bear hug." Garrus held her, wishing it wasn't yet time to go, wishing they could spend just a little bit longer here, relaxing. Recovering. Then he remembered that his bondmate was Commander Shepard, and he told himself they'd always have time _between_ missions, when she wasn't busy saving the galaxy.

END

_AN: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy whatever holidays you choose to celebrate. As always, I must thank my betas TenyumeKasumi, Tagermeister, and Lachdannen for slapping me when they notice me messing up. If you enjoyed reading, maybe leave a review and let me know. Merry Christmas, y'all!_


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